Choice
by Ghostwriter155
Summary: A series of events send young Jack Sparrow to the Caribbean. AU.
1. The Port

****

_Before movie, the Black Pearl, the compass that fails to point north or the tattoo of a sparrow, Jack Sparrow was a young stow-away that found his way to the Caribbean. This is a tale of his young life until he first comes across the Black Pearl as a man of 20 and begins an affair with it that almost causes his death later on. I hope you enjoy. I wanted to play around a little bit with Pirates of the Caribbean, that has become my new favorite movie, and this is my first attempt at it. I think that Jack probably grew up on the sea and was a pirate practically his whole life but I wanted to play around with the question of what if he hadn't spent his whole life on the sea. Obviously this story is AU. In this story I wrote so that in the beginning Jack didn't want to be a pirate, but rather a captain of a ship with a crew that would be loyal. I think that a turn of events caused him to become a pirate. Comments are always appreciated. _

Discailmer: I don't own any rites to Disney or have any affiliation with the movie and its creators. I am making not a single shilling off this. 

**Will Turner**: "We're going to steal a ship?" "That ship?"  
**Jack Sparrow**: "Commandeer!" "We're going to commandeer that ship. Nautical term."

__

The sky was blue and the wind was blowing in the sails, as a ship of the English fleet pulled out from the port towards the glistening sun. The weather was extraordinarily good for England in the autumn; the normally gray clouds and misting rain replaced with white ones on a brilliant blue sky. It was slightly cold but his blue jacket that he wore over his white cotton shirt kept the chill off his skin. He sat on the old creaking dock away from all of the activity in the port. The wood was starting to fade and rot, the salt water dissolving it. The dock heaved with each lap of the waves but he didn't even noticed. He was too caught up in the ship's moorings, the way the wind caught the pristine white sails and sent the ship cruising out to the open ocean. The breeze blew through his short brown hair and occasionally a drop of water from the ocean hit him, but even though the water was cool each droplet warmed his mind. He came here every day and the sights he saw were familiar and comfortable. 

The boy wished that he were on that ship headed for somewhere grand and full of adventure, the Caribbean perhaps, away from the dull and dreary existence that was life on the main land. Jack Sparrow was by no stretch of the imagination a land lover. He longed to be on the high seas commandeering his own ship with a loyal crew that would follow him to Davy Jones. Since he and his widowed mother lived close to the ocean the salt air was constantly on his tongue, teasing him, begging him to leave his home and go to sea. He had to fight the sea's tantalizing call on a daily basis. He mother thought he was crazy to want to out to sea and get himself killed, but it was what he wanted to do. His mother would never tell him anything about his father, but he suspected it had something to do with the sea. If a life on the sea was good enough for his father it was good enough for him. If he was to die on the sea as his father before him, then so be it. 

He could remember talking to a boy not that much older than himself who was a swab on the ship called the _Wave Runner_. He had used the word commandeer when describing his own dreams of one day getting off the _Runner _and sailing the high seas with a crew of his own. He remembered the word for it sounded so full of power and mystique; like only a chosen few people could ever commandeer as opposed to just sailing. He sometimes wondered where that boy was, what grand adventures he was on, or if he was even still alive. Many men perished on the mighty sea and many swabs were swept overboard by a violent storm and others died of scurvy or some other sea-born illnesses. Jack vowed that if he ever left England he would certainly not let such a terrible fate befall him. Yes, Jack Sparrow would not bend to the will of the sea, but rather be master of it, and no thieving pirate or tempest would ever steal his ship or end his life prematurely. 

He looked around the port to see if there were any other ships that he could see and maybe be able to talk to the members of the crew. When he saw that no other vessels had any activity he sighed and walked from the dock that he sat on. He walked past various people that were standing there for the same reason as he; admiring another ship of the British fleet going out to sea on some gallant adventure.

When he reached the small port town Stonewall he walked down the cobblestone street without really noticing the people he was passing. He ran into someone who shouted: "Hey boy watch where you're going!", but he didn't even notice. The city was just another thing that kept him from achieving the things he wanted. Since only the privileged got to go to school in the neighboring town he had to help his poor mother at her job which was cleaning those privileged people's houses as their hire-out maid that assisted the house maids in washing the vast amount of ornate cloths that they wore. The rich wore many layers of clothing and it took many people to clean them properly. Helping his mother clean the houses of wealthy lords and their wives for a scant few shillings was something that he hated to do, but it was the only work that his mother could get. It paid well enough so that she could scrape money together to pay the rent, buy bread at the market, and keep threadbare clothing on their backs. He continued walking past the clothing shops that he would never be able to afford to buy cloths at and the smith that manufactured the swords that someday hoped to wear at his hip along with a pistol; the true effects of a sea-faring man.

"Why isn't it young Jack Sparrow ", someone said from his left side, and he turned with a smile to the woman that he knew was standing there at her fruit stall with a kind smile mirroring his on her face.

"Good morning, Mrs. Myrna."

"Aye, that it is, that it is." 

She flashed another smile in his direction and then she spoke again:

" And what are ye doing out and about this early in the mornin'?"

" What I do every morning, Ma'am."

Mrs. Myrna was an elderly friend of his mother that talked with an accent not unlike that of a pirate or someone from the Caribbean. She was tall for a woman with deep blue eyes like that of the ocean. She did not dress in the drab clothes of the women of Stonewall or the fancy over-the-top outfits of the ladies of the neighboring city of West Port. Instead she wore vibrant blues and greens made of fabric he had seen on no one else. Her husband Jacob Myrna was an old man that had the same accent as she and he had the tan of a person that was born on the islands of the Caribbean. He was very tall and surprisingly strong who wore old cotton shirts that used to be white many years before with wind blown leather pants and beat-up black boots. He sometime told Jack stories of his days at sea as a shipmate and then as captain. Sometimes Jack dismissed his stories as those of a colorful old man, but he loved to hear them none the less and he found himself wishing them true. Come to think of it Mrs. Myrna was tinged with the same unchanging tan, despite both of them having spent at least twenty years in gray Stonewall. It was possible that they had both been pirates at one time, but he dare not ask either one of the Myrna's about this idea, for he might be wrong and the idea that he thought they were pirates might upset him. He suspected that these people, pirates or sailors had been friends of his father and that was how they had come to be friends with his soft-spoken mother. 

" Ah, you've been to port again, day-dreaming of having your own ship, have you now?"

Jack nodded, a wistful smile on his young face. He seemed to glow as he spoke of having a ship.

"Yes Ma'am, one day I wish to commandeer a ship of my own someday, with a loyal crew of able-bodied men and sail the seas until the day I die."

"Commandeer?" "Such a word coming from such a young boy."

"I'm not that young, Mrs. Myrna. I'm twelve."

"Twelve are ye?" Well then you're not a boy any more, she said with glint in her eye, you're a young man now." "When you get this ship what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to sail around the whole world and be a merchant and sell my wares to people all over, and then maybe I'll gather a whole fleet of merchant ships and be a great ship captain. I'll be rich and give money to my mum, so that she doesn't have to wash anything ever again. Then she can hire people that are like how she used to be to clean her cloths and wash the walls."

"You want to be a trader now?" She cast him an amused glance. "What are you going to do about pirates that try to steal your wares."

"Ill run them through with my sword or maybe I'll shoot them with my pistol. No bloody pirate will touch my treasure."

She nodded, as if she suspected such an answer. She paused a moment before speaking;

"I 'spect you will lad, I 'spect you will." She looked him over as if wondering if he would actually do what he said. " And you mother, what does she think of all this?"

"She doesn't like it much, but she will when I bring her a treasure and mountains of shillings."

"I bet she will Jack, she'll be proud of you." "You better be runnin' along child or your mother will start to worry."

Jack smiled and ran off down the street until he heard the old women's voice calling after him:

"Hey Jack my boy be careful now"; and she tossed him a fresh ripe apple that he caught easily. Red delicious; his favorite. He bit into it, savoring the sweet taste of the fruit. It was the best thing that he had eaten in a least week.

"I will, thank you", he replied and he ran down the street, his coat whipping behind him.

As the boy ran down the street to his home Mrs. Myrna sighed. 

"Ah that Jack Sparrow, his father's blood certainly runs in his veins." 

For his sake she hoped that his father's impulsiveness didn't run in his veins as well. 

XXX

Jack ran happily down the street with an extra leap in his step. His worn out boots made a clopping noise on each stone of the old street. The stones were worn down to the point that they were smooth like glass. In the cold rainy months many people slipped on the ice and went sliding to a painful fall. By his estimation his mother should be home by now and they would eat a meager dinner of bread and cheese. Sometimes they would have some soup with the bread as well, when his mother got some extra money at the end of the month from one of her employers. Even thought they lived in poor conditions they were grateful, since many people didn't have a place to say in the poor town of Stonewall. 

At night when he couldn't sleep he would climb on the roof and look up at the hill to West Port where the rich slept in their feather comforter beds with the canopies on their four poster beds. His mother went to bed right after eating every night even before the sun had gone down since she was so tired from working from sun-up. Sometimes he would look in fascination at the stars and the moon in the sky when it was not cloudy, but he always found himself staring at the brightly-lit houses in the dark. He would think of his poor mother that had to trudge up that hill in all weather, sometimes with him in tow. He could remember walking up that hill in a rainstorm, each droplet hitting him like ice numbing his face. When they finally reached the house of Lord Fairmont cold and muddy they were told to go home, since filth such as them would not be allowed in muddy and sopping wet. Jack wanted to remind the lord that he had told them to come rain or shine and that he shouldn't go back on his word, but he knew that that would loose his mother her job and the lord paid her the most money out of all her employers. On those long nights he would find himself wondering why he had to live in the valley in a house with one drafty room and eat stale bread with half-rotten cheese with dirty water in a rusty tankard. He vowed to take his mother away from all this, this terrible existence. He would take his mother someplace warm and they would never be poor again. 

Living in poverty had made Jack tough however, and the lessons he had learned growing up on the street would stay with him forever. By living life hard on the main land he would be able to take anything that the unforgiving sea would throw his way. When he reached the end of the street he stopped running and calmed his heaving lungs. He glanced at the clock that was located on the top of the church. The light was just coming on as the sun was going down. 6:00. His mother should have been home an hour ago.

He walked slowly the rest of the way to his home which was a small stone building at the end of a row of small stone buildings. The middle section of the poor lived in these one-room buildings and the upper part of the lower class lived in a building that had two rooms. Those who were the poorest of the poor slept it streets with their ragged cloths clutched to their bodies to stave off the chill of the British air. Even in the warm summer months the streets at night were cold and bitter. Some of Jack friend's were these poor people, but there was nothing that he could do for them. 

He reached his house and was surprised to find no one home. The way he knew that no one was home was the fact that the lamp was not on, and it was always on when his mother came home. The whole house was dark; he could see that through the small dirty window that was the only one in the house. He figured that his mother was probably working another one of her late nights for one of the many people that she worked for. Jack walked toward the door to open it and it creaked open as he did so. They had no locks on their doors since they couldn't afford to get a door that could accommodate one, but no one world ever break in, since there was nothing to take except an old lantern and a beat up wood chair with matching aged chairs. 

He walked slowly inside the room and shut the door behind him. He couldn't see and he fumbled for the match that he knew was on the table. He located it quickly and struck it, the fire casting a ghostly light throughout the room. He lit the old lamp and the room was quickly filled with light. He surveyed the room to find it the same as he had left it in the morning. The room was a gray-like color with a small wooden table in the middle. In two of the corners of the room there was a bed of hay with a pillow and an old sheet that his mother had taken from one of her employers. The sheets were going to be thrown out, and his mother didn't believe in wasting anything. In the middle of the table was a loaf of bread and some cheese. He noticed that next to the food was a piece of parchment paper. Somehow his mother had found a piece to write on and he read the note.

__

Jack,

I'll probably be working late tonight. Eat some food.

-Mum

Jack sat and began to eat a piece of bread with some cheese. He had been eating quietly when he heard a knock from the door. He got up slowly from the table and looked out the window. His mother had told him to never open the door for anyone until he saw who it was that had come knocking. He looked up the dusty window and saw that it was Mr. Foster, the head servant that kept all the other servants in line. He really didn't serve anyone, he merely told the other servants what to do and took credit for their efficiency but none of their credit for their occasional inefficient moments. 

He opened the door wondering what the man could possibly want with him since his mother was at the home of his employer working. The man looked at him with a questioning look as if he wasn't sure he was at the right house. The man spoke coldly:

"Jack Sparrow, I presume?"

"Yes sir."

"Did you come to see my mum?"

The figure stiffened.

"No."

"Can you tell me where she is"?

"Boy, your mother is dying. She has taken ill and she collapsed shortly the servants had their lunch."

**__**

You can probably see some of the parallels between Jack and Will Turner. That really wasn't what I was going for, but it works. Also I couldn't decided to have Jack's mom die right away and leave a note to Jack, or have him see her one last time. I think it will work better this way.

Please R&R

Bye!


	2. Dream

**Jack Sparrow**: [to Will Turner] _"Now as long as you're just hanging there, pay attention."  "The only rules that really matter are these: what a man can do and what a man can't do." "For instance, you can accept that your father was a pirate and a good man or you can't." "But pirate is in your blood, boy, so you'll have to square with that some day. "And me, for example, I can let you drown, but I can't bring this ship into __Tortuga__ all by me onesies, savvy." "So, can you sail under the command of a pirate, or can you not?" _

X X X

"Sir would you mind coming in a telling me where my mother is, and what happened to her?"

Silence. Mr. Foster stood there outside of the door way in the dark night wondering if this boy had any sense of manners about him. The cool air that was associated with England's nights came in through the door that was completely open and Jack felt a definite chill enter the room. 

The aide to the lord stood there in silence hoping that the boy would correct his etiquette error. Foster was taught to not answer a question that was not asked properly. The question should be polite and it should be worded as a request, not a demand, especially since a boy who couldn't' be no older than thirteen was asking anyway, and a _servant_ to boot..

 Jack stood there for a good minute before he realized why the man was not saying anything. He could have slapped himself in the forehead, like one does when he realizes he is being stupid, but that wouldn't be "proper" either. Where were his manners? 

His mother had at least taught him how to act around debutantes and their staff, despite his fiery protests against showing _those_ peoples any measure of kindness. The aristocrats may think he was a heathen but he'd show them by being the definition of the world polite around them. He added polite words to the end of his question softly:

"Please?"

The man sighed and answered rather reluctantly:

" Oh all right boy"

Mr. Foster stepped in the room with a hesitant step as if by walking the room he would catch some kind of germ that would kill as soon as he came in contact with it. 

He surveyed the room with critical disdain, the dark colorless walls that used to be sort of white and the old table with the sleeping pallets next to them, like he had never been to the house of the poor, and in truth he probably hadn't been. He probably hadn't any kind of idea as to what the abode was even going to look like when he came in.

"Please sit down sir and tell me what happened to my mum"

He walked just as heavily to one of the chairs made from old hard wood planks without any finish of any kind. It looked as if Jack had made them himself. He studied the chair as any aristocrat would who was suddenly invited into a home where ragamuffins lived, and were offered to sit in a make-shift chair. 

He then suddenly looked very worried, like something he ate had given him indigestion. He had paled considerably, especially considering he was English upper crust through and through and shouldn't have to sit in such a chair. Would it hold his weight? 

Surprisingly he found that he didn't want to somehow offend the poor boy, so he acquiesced. He walked the remaining distance through the room to it. He sat down slowly and relaxed visibly when the roughly crafted chair didn't collapse beneath his weight.

"Well your mother was out hanging up the laundry when she collapsed, the poor dear." 

Jack wondered if the man was truly feeling sorry for his mother or if the words poor dear were just for his benefit. Jack sat across from the gentleman and wondered if he should ask to see his mother, or if he was going to be allowed Mr. Foster would have already said so. 

"Sir is there anyway I can see her?"

The man cleared his throat before speaking.

"Yes of course boy, but not until morning." He glanced at the boy with contempt. How dare this boy ask do many questions and interrogate him. Still he felt sympathy for the boy and he rose and watched as the boy did the same.

"Thank you very much sir, but one more thing before you leave." 

He paused for a moment before asking, the tension in the room thick.

"Where is she?"

"At the barber of course, where all the people go when they take ill." "Anything else?"

The question was more like a dare and not really an honest question.

"No sir, thank you very much."

With that last verification that the child was done speaking the lord's aide nodded to him and the boy gave the same nod back to the man. He walked out the door and Jack followed, standing then at the door way. The man then got in his little carriage and drove off, back up the hill and to the mansion and the city of West Port. 

Jack could hear the horse's hooves on the cobblestones. The sound of the hooves lessened as the carriage drove away. The aide would probably put on his bed clothes, get under his feather comforter and forget all about poor little soon-to-be-orphaned Jack sparrow and his house of filth, but no matter, he had a feeling he would never see him again anyway. He didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

X X X

The town of Stonewall slept on through the most beautiful night that ever existed in the drab shantytown. The night was clear and the moon had a shine not unlike that of a polished mirror, cold and beautiful. 

The weather was cool, but it was the nice kind of cool that blows over you with a gentle caress. In could have been below freezing outside, but those who were gazing up at the stars hardly noticed. They wouldn't have been able to notice anything short of a blizzard to look away from the sky.

In the town the moon was low in the sky and the stars gleamed with a heavenly light. One could waste away into nothing by looking into those stars, for if you got caught up in the rush of their beauty you would forget the rest of the world and its troubles and drift away on the misty clouds that were in the heavens. The whole city slept on through the beauty though. Everyone, except Jack Sparrow. 

_That is why the moon and the stars only come out at night,_ Jack concluded. _Or else everyone would be lost to the sky._

He was on the roof gazing at the crystalline sky, just wondering. He couldn't sleep, the sound of his mother's breaths to lull him away was absent, and he was unable to close his eyes and relax. He feared that real sleep would evade him for the rest of his life. 

_If she died…_ But that thought trailed away from his mind and was gone. He couldn't bear to consider that. The thin veil of clouds that surrounded the moon swirled around, as if in a dance paying homage to its silver brilliance.

Despite wearing his jacket he did feel some of the chill that blew softly over him, but the chill was not a painful one like he had when he was ill, but only a reminder that he couldn't stay out here all night and stare out into nothing. 

If he really thought of it, he realized all he had to do was look at the town and he would see nothing. Nothing but torn down shops and worn people asleep in their beds, exhausted from another day repairing nets, cleaning fish and making things out of scraps to for dinner, trying to find their huge families that had bellies that cramped with starved agony.

The town of Stonewall was buried of the weight of the rich city that loomed above it on the hill. Some of the people were digging their ways out of servitude to the rich of the city of West Port, but many were encased in debt to the lords and magistrates of the neighboring city, who would always increase interest so that they would never be free of debt. The city also happened to be the sister city of West Port, called Cornwallace. The city was lead by Lord Faimont's brother. Both were the most tyrannical lords of all England, or so he had heard. They both hardly followed the king's orders, and took it upon themselves to make there own rules and laws, practically declaring each other to be king. 

So, if you wanted to escape the life of the poor on this side of "jolly ole' England" you had to escape the tyranny and prejudice that the house of Lord Fairmont seemed to have for the people who depended on him for work outside the fishing town. Not everyone could fish or even afford to after all. 

Jack knew that not every wealthy person in the city of Cornwall or West Port was so terrible to those they employed and were owed by, but his mother had certainly chosen the worst people to work for. Many of them were truly good people, but he had never met them. The nice people at the lord's mansion were never allowed to speak to the servants, since the servants must know there place and not get ideas. The worst people it seemed in this town were those that had the most money. The Fairmonts had no sympathy. Despite their lack of understanding they both paid well. 

He often dreamed his mother had a good boss and that he paid even better than Lord Fairmont. In his heart he knew if the people tried they could escape the problems that they were born into, but many had given up, feeling that he could not win. All the people would have to do was work hard and then they might be treated more considerably, but they had their dreams crushed. 

When he got a ship of his own, he would sail away and never come back. With his mother dying he wouldn't have anything to hold him here, and he wasn't sure if this was a good or bad thing. Mrs. Myrna told him not to forget his roots no matter what.

X X X

Deciding that he should go back inside and try to get some sleep before going to his mother in the morning, he dangled his feet over the roof and his foot caught the window ledge and climbed back in. He closed the cheap and poorly made glass behind him and the breeze left the room, leaving it quiet and a little bit warmer. 

He walked across the room and towards the candle that flickered with an eerie glow in the little room. The lantern that it was encased in was scratched and dented, but it still worked. 

His shadow was projected on the dingy walls, making him look tall and very skinny. He surveyed the walls with disdain and blew out the light. He walked to his pallet and he kneeled down. He did something he had never done before--Pray

God didn't exist down here in this forgotten town, for he had done just like everyone else in the whole world-- forgotten it. He questioned if the lord did even exist, and sometimes he wondered if the tales of a god who would take you into heaven for good servitude to him in this life was real, but his mother believed so, so why shouldn't he?

He spoke quietly almost to himself, but it was a prayer none the less.

"God if you really exist, could you do me just one favor? My mum, she's sick, but I'm sure you know that, and if you could make her well again, I would be most thankful. I promise to be good and listen to her and not be so impulsive, whatever that is. I will listen to Lord Fairmont's aides and wash the clothes until they are like new." 

By the end of it he was biting back tears, his nose sniffling, but he vowed that he wouldn't cry. He had to be strong. If his mother was to recover he would have to be strong. He made the sign of the cross that he had seen his mother do and listened to see if he felt any different or heard a sound signifying that his prayer had been heard. 

Despite his maturity he still thought like a small child about many things. He realized how foolish he would sound if he ever told someone that he had kneeled on the cold floor of his home and had waited for a sign.

Silence. But what did he expect? Some celestial voice answering his request, or a choir of angels that sang in perfect harmony? He would have to wait and see, and patience as anyone who knew him could tell you, was not something he possessed. He was a lot of things, but patient was not one of them.

Jack then laid on his hay bed and thought and thought and though. Not about anything in particular, but these thoughts of practically nothing kept him awake all night. Closer to the end of that night however, he kept thinking about his future and his mother, if she died, what would happen to him? Would he be thrown out on the street? Be found dead in the gutter of the city streets? Forgotten? 

One thing that he promised to himself was that Jack Sparrow, future commandeer of the seas, would never be forgotten, if he had something to say about it. What scared him was he didn't think he would have a say in it.

He closed his eyes and thought about the only thing in his life that brought him any happiness- the sea and it all encompassing mass. Out on the ocean he would lose sight of the mainland and leave all the land lovers and their problems behind him. To him there would be nothing greater than leaving at sun down and seeing the sun set on the city and see it shrink as he got father away on his ship that would sail a faster than any other.

X X X

_Suddenly Jack was a man. He a grown strong and proud, the turmoil of his childhood forgotten, left behind like when one leaves his family when they marry and starts a new life. He was tall and handsome and sure to capture the attention of the female traders whom he could share his high seas adventures with._

_This would be what his life would be like in a few years-- a man with strength and a ship to call his own._

_He could feel the deck creak beneath him and the sea rocked him back and forth on his heels as he stood there taking in the sea air and watching the terrible town of Stone Wall fading away and the hill that East Port sat on shrank into nothing. The sun was setting and it waves quiet a sight to see. Red, purple, blue, pink, yellow, and orange all rolled into one. _

_Another one of the Myrna's sayings rolled through his head:_

**_"Red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors warning."_**

The Jack Sparrow that he was seeing kept the words of the Myrna's close to his heart, since what had happened after his mother…. 

His Mother. He found that this Jack couldn't really remember his mother that well, if she had died when he was twelve, or if she still was alive and the saddening thing was that he didn't seem to care. Something had happened to this man that had changed the course of his existence.

It was then that young Jack in his dream discovered that this was not the happy and prosperous future that he had thought of in his mind. This Jack had a ship and a livelihood of some sort, but it was not at all how he had imagined. What was this Jack's seafaring occupation anyway? 

_He learned in his dream that life had not turned out the way that he had imagined, and he had been visiting Stonewall for reasons that he couldn't quiet understand in the dream state he was in. He was not leaving the town for the first time on his adventures as a trader, but rather he had come back after many years for another reason. _

_He certainly hoped the part about not missing his mother was something that never came true. If this was his future he would rather stay in Stonewall and never face that lonely and bittersweet life._

_As the town faded from view he could feel the bittersweet thought that were running through the grown Sparrow's mind, but the thoughts were not clear and he saw no one image that would tell him what had happened to him._

_ Everything was just a jumble of joy, sorrow and drunkenness, which was something he had no experience with since he had never had a drink in his life. Somehow he could still tell what it would be like if he got drunk. The Jack Sparrow he would become certainly had had his share of rum. _

_He then got a good look at the ship that he was on. It was completely black. From the moorings, to the mast and the wooden planks of the ship, there was nothing but the dark, foreboding ebony. The sails were black a well. The ship, however frightening it appeared seemed to be something that made the Jack of his dream happy. _

_He sighed in the dream and went to run his fingers through his hair, but stopped when he felt beads and hair that felt like it had been netted together. He then put his hand on his chin and felt a bread that was very thin, almost like a goatee, that had been divide into two strands, each with a foreign object that his dream mind was telling him was a bread, just like what was in his hair._

In his sleep twelve year old Jack Sparrow rolled over and stretched out to reach his mother that wasn't there. When he had dreams and nightmares his mother and comforted saying that it was only a dream and it wasn't real. This dream was different though, it felt so real. He could actually taste the salt in the air. By not finding his mother's warm presence his was slowly coming awake.

When he realized where he was and what had happened he woke with a start. The dream seemed almost like a vision. One thing he would change was that he wouldn't ever forget his mother. He had been taught to remember his roots. He laid his head back down and tried to relax. He thought about the Myrna's for some reason and as he drifted back to sleep he heard Mrs. Myrna's wise voice that was soft as if it came from far away:

**_"You musn't ever forget where and who you come from Jack, ever………"_**

****

At that Jack fell asleep. He needed the rest. Dawn would be coming soon, and then he would go to see his mother. He hoped he was not to late.


	3. Parting

**Norrington**: _"You are without a doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of."_   
**Jack Sparrow**: _"But you have heard of me."_

A slight breeze blew over the town and the sun pierced the blue sky. It seemed like it was going to be another godsend of a day, like the previous days, but there was also somehow a foreboding feeling in the wind. It symbolized the nice days were fading and winter was almost there.

The town was stirring. The smell of baking bread, sweet and warm, could be smelled almost all the way to the lush city of West Port. Fishermen were repairing their ancient nets for the umpteenth time that week, seeing if they could haul one more catch out of their deteriorated netting. The stalls were opening and ships were preparing to sell their wares and pull out of the dreadful town, glad they wouldn't have to return there- -until next year.

The golden rays of the sun were in the process of waking all the late risers, bringing them into wakefulness. Many protested the wake-up call, but no one could escape the sun's ability to bring them out of slumber and into alertness. The day was upon you, whether you liked it or not.

The sun was warm on Jack Sparrow's face and he turned on his side to escape the light that he could feel on his eyelids. He saw the customary red that one saw when their eyes were closed and the sun was shining on them. Sighing, realizing that he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, he opened his eyes. He wasn't prepared for the blinding light that hit him. He rubbed his eyes slowly and sat up on his straw bed. He had slept late. Usually he got up with the sun, but his mother wasn't there to wake him before she went to work at the Fairmont estate.

His mother. Realizing why she wasn't there to wake him hit him suddenly, full-force in the chest. The air was almost knocked out of him. She was at the barber dying. He had to get dressed and go see her.

He rubbed his eyes and rose. He looked out the dirty window and watched as the sun continued its assent up into the air. The glare of the sun seemed to burn his retinas and after a few moments he had to look away. He walked to the end of the room where on the corner of the table his comb awaited. He brushed through his hair absentmindedly, already thinking of the time that he would see his mother again. He didn't know what he would do if it was his last.

He looked in the tiny mirror that was in the corner of the room and sighed with a youth's disdain. He looked tired. His slender shoulders heaved as if he had the weight of something foreboding and powerful on them. For a moment he looked like the Jack Sparrow that he had seen in his dream. Suddenly the sea didn't seem to be such a friendly and hypnotic place, but rather a prison where one would grow old alone. He turned and walked with weighted feet to the door.

There was no lock on the old wooden door—not that anyone would want to break into. The homes that got robbed were in lush West Port, not Stonewall. He walked quickly and with great purpose down the cobblestone street, his ankle-length boots clopping on the stones as he almost sprinted to the barber, and his mother.

X         X         X

The town of Stonewall had one barber and one physician to operate it. Needless to say, the place was always teeming with the sick that needed to have their fluids let to rid themselves of their poisoned blood. It was a rickety old building that was way past its prime. The barber himself was just a decrepit old man with a sight problem. People only came to him if they were deathly ill. Terrible home remedies that left one sick for days were better than the agonizing death that was given courtesy of John the Bleeder. 

It wasn't that he killed people on purpose, but rather he was too old to do the job. He had quivering fingers that would cause his knife to miss its mark, causing the patient to bleed to death. Sometimes he couldn't stop the bleeding, even if he did the letting properly, and the person bled to death anyway. Others would get raging fevers after his "care" and would die. Jack believed this had something to do with fact he didn't clean the wound like all the other barbers did. He never before had been inside the place but he had passed it everyday when he would walk down to port to see the ships. He had never had his blood let by anyone, and he prayed to God that he would never have to.

He reached the building quickly and approached the ancient door. He knocked very carefully, fearing that the door itself would collapse if the force of his fist was too much. The knock made a soft thud and inside the one-room building he could here someone stirring. The door opened slowly and he saw the hunched over form of John Baker, the infamous bleeder.

The first thing that he noticed was the thick almost black blood that coated both of his hands. He had an apron that was equally bloody, with stains that were in various stages of drying. He was hunched over and he had short, thinning hair that was pure white and eyes that were a tired blue. He had once been tall, but now he was gnarled as an old tree. He swallowed hard and spoke to the man loudly:

"Sir, could you tell me where my mother is?"

He answered back in a thick accented voice:

"It depends boy, who is you mother?"

He swallowed again as the man stepped towards him. He smelled of death and the metallic stench of blood. He spoke his mother's name like it was a foreign language, and indeed it was, for he had never said it before. He hadn't needed to.

"Mrs. Jacqueline Sparrow."

"Ah, let me see."

He stood there and wondered for a moment saying the name over and over.

"Sparrow, Sparrow. I know that name from somewhere…., his voiced trailed off as realization hit him. 

"Ah yes, the late Jonathan Sparrow's Wife."

Jack's voiced cracked after hearing his father's voice. The name sounded like a different tongue. 

"Yes sir."

"Come in then boy, but I must warn you, the things you will see in here no young boy such as yourself should have to see. 

"Sir, I'm not a little boy anymore. I'm twelve, almost thirteen."

His old withered face cracked a small smile.

"Just the same I thought I'd warn you child."

The man stepped aside and he ushered the boy in. Jack obediently followed, but not before taking one last breath of fresh air. It might be the last taste of clean air he would have for a while.

If he had thought the smell to be bad on the outside it was now ten times worse on the inside. He could only take small breaths; otherwise he feared he'd gag on the foul stench in the air. The blood's metallic and strong odor hit him hard. It worked its way into his clothes and he feared that he would never be able to wear the clothing again without thinking of the smell. The room was filled with cots that had straw mattresses on them. Each cot had a patient on them who were in different stages of illness and dying. They walked farther into the room, to the back where the letting was going on. Old John passed them without even giving them a glance, but Jack stared in nauseous agony at them. They walked past a patient lying on a cot curtain that was pulled back next to him. His arm was hanging off the cot and when Jack looked to the floor he was greeted with the sight of the man's blood flowing into a wooden bowl through a gaping hole in his arm. Jack almost vomited then and grabbed his stomach, as if by doing that would calm it. Obviously Jack had disturbed the Bleeder's work.

When John realized that Jack was lagging behind and staring at the patient , he walked back to him and pulled the curtain back, obscuring the man from his view. He could still make out is shadow through the thin cloth. He then continued walking and Jack fixed his eyes straight ahead and didn't dare to look from side to side again.

They approached a door that led to another room. When John the Bleeder reached the door he turned and leaned against it. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Jack raised his chin and answered with all the force and bravery that he could muster.

"Yes sir, I am. I have to see my mother again."

The old man regarded Jack for a moment and then nodded and answered with a half sigh.

"Alright then, but I warned you."

He opened the door slowly, and there was no smell, not anything. Just the stillness and quiet of death. Jack's resolve wavered but he stepped inside. When he noticed that John wasn't coming in he hesitated and looked at the old man expectantly. The man shook his head.

"As you know I am always busy so I won't be coming in. Is that alright?"

Jack nodded and went in closing the door and leaving the smell and suffering behind him.

He surveyed the room. It was small and very dim. There was a small window at the back of the room and it cast a gray light throughout the room. On the left on the room there was a man that was deathly pale. He was sleeping, taking shallow breaths. On the right there was the still form of his mother. He walked to the cot and knelt on the floor next to it.

He touched her shoulder with his hand and tried to stir her into wakefulness. He called her over and over again. 

"Mother, Mother wake up please."

Slowly as if she had been far away on the other side of the world she stirred and half opened her eyes. She spoke in a small whisper that he had to strain to hear.

"Oh Jack you're here."

She tried to smile but fell short. 

Jack looked at her pale face, the graying eyes, and tired expression. He barely recognized her. She was fading fast and there was nothing he could do. Absolutely nothing. He didn't even know what was wrong with her. He swallowed hard and chocked back tears.

Sensing his pain his mother slowly reached up cupped his cheek. 

"Don't be sad Jackie, it will be alright. The Myrna's will take care of you after…"

For once he did not reprimand her for using his nickname. They sat in silence for a while, and Jack broke it with tears in his voice.

"Mum, you know that I love you right?"

She nodded painfully with tears in her eyes.

"Yes and I love you."

She tried to sit up but she fell back onto the cot. She coughed for a few moments and then she stilled again. She looked at her son and spoke.

"Jack I never told you about your father and I still don't think that I can. I've been hiding something from you, we all have.

"We?"   

"The Myrna's and I."

"Tell me mother, please."

"No. Mr. and Mrs., Myrna could tell it like I never could. You see I never knew him when he…"

She trailed off as another fit of coughing accompanied by gasping hit her. She seemed to convulse and then as quickly as it came it stopped.

"Ask them Jack, they'll tell you."

"Promise me when you find out you won't be angry at me for not telling you."

"Mum, I could never be mad at you."

Her voice grew desperate.

"Promise me Jack."

He gulped and chocked out an answer:

"Yes mother I promise."

"And never forget me…."

With that she took another gasping breath and her eyes closed.

For a moment he sat there shocked. He looked at her form and didn't know what to do. Then suddenly the tears came. Racking sobs hit him and the hot tears hit her body leaving water stains on her blouse. He was lost in a sea of grief and pain. He had lost his only family and would have to face life alone. No one felt his pain or could understand. it. Time stood still and nothing was there except him, his mother and his anguish. He put his head on her chest and let go of his pain. He embraced her dead form and wept. 

X         X         X

The funeral was held a few days later with few in attendance. The scant number of people that had been friends with his mother came as well as the Myrna family. Old John the barber was in attendance as well. Surprisingly the lord's aide Mr. Foster cam bearing flowers that he said came from the whole household with great sympathy. 

The day was sunny and the priest that did the ceremony was very good. He spoke clearly and with purpose as the casket was lowered into the ground. Jack barely heard or noticed what was going on.

_"Jesus said, I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies."_

Not for the first time since the passing of his mother the night before Jack thought about his future. Where would he stay? What would he do? The Myrna's were getting on in years and they wouldn't be able to care for him for long and then he would be left alone. Again. The more he thought of these things the more fearful and confused he felt.

_"When I stand in glory I will see His face and there I'll serve my King for ever in that holy place. Amen."_

How could he take care of himself? Was he ready? What if he couldn't? Could he go on?

_'I am the light of the world; he who follows me shall not walk in the darkness, but shall have the light of life."_

If something happened to him would anyone miss him, or would he be forgotten? Was life on the sea the only option, or did he have no options left?

_"For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whoever believes in him should not perish, but have eternal life. Amen."  
  
_

The people left and Jack was left standing there and he watched as the dirt was slowly poured over the grave plot. The diggers packed the dirt down and the tombstone was visible again after they too left. Jonathan and Jacqueline Sparrow was all that it read. His father's birth date had been unknown and so had his mothers, both for different reasons. His mother was poor and her date didn't matter and his father… Well he didn't know why that was so. He had never known him. He had died before he was born. It didn't really matter know.

He turned from the grave stone and looked to the hill that was nearby. The Myrna's were there and they were waiting to take him home. He walked towards them and they started for the Myrna household. 

The Myrna's were not rich but they lived comfortably. They had three rooms; two bedrooms and one main room. They actually had real beds and not just mounds of straw. Jack moved the few belongings that he had to the home and they had sold the house and had received what it was worth, which wasn't much. He would try his best to make their house a home but his heart would always be with that little hovel in the bad end of town.

Jack went and sat in the main room and stared at the window, imagining that he was somewhere else and that his mother was alive. He was a rich merchant and she had everything that she wanted. The Myrna's were there too and they were both laughing and smiling right along with him. The sun was shining and he was happy. 

He blinked and was instantly back in the household of the Myrna family and it was raining. It hadn't stopped raining since the night before after his mother's funeral.

Her funeral… It was hard for his young mind to think of her as dead; he could still feel her. He closed his eyes and he could see her face smiling at him. His mother would follow him in spirit and would never leave him, unless he wanted her to. And he never would. He would carry her inside his heart 'till he joined her in death. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see who it was. It was Mrs. Myrna. She looked at him with a sympathetic and knowing smile. 

"Jack, she said gently, it's time to eat."

He nodded and walked to the table. He sat down across from Mr. Myrna and Jack ate without saying anything. Jacob and his wife spoke to each other and Jack sat and absentmindedly played with his food, moving his fish slowly across his plate. He sat and thought about his mother again and this time his father was there in his daydream. He had never seen his father before, but he knew that it was him. He was tall and strong and his smile was true and pure. He ran towards them and he embraced them both, and they just stood that way for a while, making up for the fact that they had never actually been that way. 

He shook his head and removed himself from those thoughts. He remembered that his mother had told him to ask the Myrna's about his father. He knew they would tell him if he asked.

He spoke up and startled them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Myrna I want you to tell me about my father."

The fork fell from Jacob Myrna's hand and clattered onto his plate.


	4. Tell Me A Story

_Note: I think the end of this chapter is too predictable but I sort of want to keep this movie- like, meaning short, fast, but fun. I now it's been a while since the last update, but I hope you like it, but if you don't that's ok too. _

_Also: Thanks to Jheti/DarkSlayer84 for the support and beta reading._

**Will Turner****: _It's not your blood they needed. It was my father's blood. My blood... the blood of a pirate. _**

After the clattering of the Myrna's silverware faded there was no sound. It suddenly felt like death in the room- cold and silent. A slight rumble could be heard in the distance as the silence went on, but the people inside the small home paid the weather no heed.

Outside the wind was picking up. Thick black clouds were rolling in and the only light that could be seen, the moon, was being covered in a grey fog. The wind started to howl and the rain came pouring down, but those inside the Myrna home however took no notice. The storm unleashed inside was the center of their attention. They sat in the main room dead silent. They all stared at each other, all of them waiting for someone else to say something, anything. Both Mr. and Mrs. Myrna overcame their initial shock at the same time. They both spoke in unison.

"What did you say?"

Jack set his fork down on the table and looked resolutely at the Myrnas.

"I asked you to tell me about my father."

"What brought this on, Jack? Your mother?"

A nod.

"She told you that we could tell you about him, didn't she?"

He nodded in the quick fashion that he had before.

"What exactly do you want to know about him?"

He paused and seemed to consider his words. To Mrs. Myrna he looked too thoughtful and considerate for a twelve year old.

"The Truth." There. He had said it. Now all he had to do was wait. He knew that Mr. Myrna would tell him the story but he also knew Mrs. Myrna well. If she didn't feel that he was ready Jacob would never utter a word of his father's tale.

Mrs. Myrna sighed and looked at Jack as if she was seeing him for the first time. _What truth do you want Jack? Our truth or the truth that you will create from what we tell you. You should know your father's story, but are ye ready? O' course he is! He is the son of Jonathan Sparrow, the greatest captain who ever sailed the sea, besides my Jacob of course. He's the spitting image of his father. Why didn't I see it before? All you have to do is look in his eyes. He had those same brown eyes almost like honey that you can get lost in, like the ocean waves. All you have to do is look…_

"Jack, are you sure? Once I tell you everything will change. You cannot go back."

She then whispered something quiet, almost to herself.

"Lord knows I've tried."

Jack stared at the bronzed face of Mrs. Myrna and considered her words. She gave him a patient look while he decided.

"Yes. I need to know. Who my father was is a part of me, and without that part I feel empty. The memory of my parents is all I have left and I know almost nothing about him. I need this Mrs. Myrna. I need your husband to tell his story to me. Will you let him?" He then added in a quiet whisper much more like a twelve year boy who has been taught manners,

"--Please?"

She gave him another stern glance and still found herself deciding whether or not to let her husband tell the stories. She only knew the tales of the Myrna and Sparrow family through her husband and she knew that some of the tales should not be told to a boy. However if Jack was only told about his father's life and not his death he would never find out about the reason that he was in Stonewall, and how the Myrna's, seemingly so out of place had ended up here as well. _There's no sense in dragging the boy into that mess. Not one so likely to fall into the same predicament as his father._

She nodded and rose from her seat at the table. During the conversation she had forgotten where she was. She looked to her silent husband who still was shocked. He couldn't believe that she had agreed. She gave her husband a look that meant- _say something! - _and so he did. Gathering up his strongest voice he spoke clearly in his storyteller's fashion. Tonight it would not be made up stories that a smaller Jack had enjoyed. This would be the truth. He could only hope that Jack could accept it and that it wouldn't but his future in jeopardy, whatever it may be.

"Very well then."

She motioned to her husband and he stood as well. Leaving the dinner table cluttered behind them they both walked to their chairs that were next to the old fireplace. They were strong wooden chairs that sat across from each other in the small room. Mrs. Myrna sat and gestured to Jack to sit in front of them. It was covered in dust and Jack found it impossible to believe it had ever been cleaned, let alone lighted. While Jack and Mrs. Myrna got themselves situated, Mr. Myrna somehow coaxed the fire to life with a dry log and patience. After he was satisfied with the size of the fire he sat down as well.

Mr. Myrna looked at Jack and seeing that he was comfortable on the floor cleared his throat. He looked to his wife for a moment and then spoke in his smooth voice.

"I think that I should start from when I met your father seventeen years ago. He was eighteen at the time. He was a crew member on my ship."

"Mr. Myrna, I already knew that you were a ship captain. My mum told me that. You had to be to tell all those great stories of the sea. Was it a merchant ship?"

"No."

"A ship of her majesty?"

He shook his grey head.

"Fishing vessel?"

Another negative response.

"A personal ship?"

He nodded his head slightly.

"What on earth did you use the ship for?"

Silence.

Jack grew impatient and spoke again.

"Mr. Myrna, I've asked you every function I can think up for a boat that you would need a crew for, what else could you have used it for."

This time Mr. Myrna's silence was eerie and foreboding. A word hung in the air. He opened his mouth and nothing came out. After a moment Jack managed to hoarsely croak out:

"…Piracy?"

The only sound was the fire crackling violently. The silence pressed on their ears. They all looked around at each other, hoping that one of them would break the silence. Mrs. Myrna spoke first in her lightly accented voice.

"Well know that bit is out in the open Jacob you can start telling your story."

When Jack turned his head back to Jacob Myrna it appeared as if the man had aged ten years in an instant. Even his eyes, once dark and kind appeared to be worn out and distant. He appeared to be reaching far back into his mind to a place his wife had never seen. A place where the waves rocked viciously under a black sky and tossed man, along with his insignificant vessel, around as if he were a doll. The further backed he reached the more it seemed to take out of him. Even though his mind was traveling back in time his body was aging by leaps and bounds. He was getting to old to dwell in times years gone and it was showing. He eventually colleted himself and turned his eyes to Jack again.

"In order to tell you the history of your father, Jack I must start from the beginning of my own pirating career, even as short as it was."

_Career indeed_, Jack thought, but said nothing.

"Forty years ago when I was twenty years old I inherited my father's ship after his untimely death. He was a pirate as his father before him. Stole from English warships and the Queen's vessels he did. He never took from a merchant or private vessel. He said that he was just takin' back from those that took from. That's what he told me. My father never killed either, unless the person he was fighting was trying to kill him. He could not however be responsible for some of the action of his crew. That never helped his reputation among sailors. You might think that all I could dream of was taking his place. That's not true. I never had any attention of becoming a pirate of any kind, it just sort of happened.

_How does something like that sort of happen? And how did you father die anyway, Mr. Myrna?_

Mr. Myrna answered one of his unasked questions.

"Jack when you come from a family of pirates with a reputation as big as my families…well let's just say everyone expects you to do that. When I inherited that ship I was given the crew as well. I just wanted to become a merchant and sell wares, but I couldn't abandon them. An' the men would have none of that. I wanted to take care of them, Jack; they had been so loyal, although I believe it had somethin' to do with the fact that my father looted the most money of any ship on the high seas, here or in the Caribbean. Pirates have loyalty with a price. _And what a price your father paid my boy._ These were the children of my grandfather's crew."

"So you became a lawless pirate, feared and hated just to take care of the men?"

"I wish it were that simple boy. When I took charge of that boat I planned on leaving it in the hands of the first mate on the ship, Jack Sparrow.

"Jack Sparrow? That would mean…"

"Aye Jack. You come from a pirating family as well. He's your namesake and with just cause."

"But I'm nothing like a pirate!"

"Ay that you are not. But you strong just like him and brave as well."

Jack's mouth opened and closed a few times and he stared in disbelief and outrage at the couple seated across from him. He didn't even know who these people were anymore. What was worse was that he didn't even know himself anymore. He managed a whisper and it was barely perceptible.

"I'm nothing like him. I will not be like a…a…pirate."

Mr. Myrna didn't miss a beat and continued on as if Jack had said nothing. He flashed a knowing smile at Jack He didn't understand yet. You couldn't choose who your relatives were or if you were like them or not. It was already decided even if he didn't like it. Blood always stays with you no matter how hard you try to rid yourself of it. He didn't have to become a pirate or anything like that but it was in his blood and soul.

He had made all that effort to travel back to get the story and he was going to get to tell it. No interruptions.

"Anyway I was going to give the ship to your grandfather Jack Sparrow. He was around twenty-five years old at the time and probably my best friend. I was known as "the kid" to him. I offered him the ship, but he said that it only deserved to be commanded by a Myrna so I had to become the captain of the ship. I kissed my sister and mother goodbye and left port the day after my father's funeral. We had smooth sailing until we met up with Her Majesties Navy. You see my father's reputation followed me and the Navy thought that I was looking for more ships to loot. Actually I was traveling to Tortuga to inform the pirate population of my father's death. I had figured they would have known of his passing but I needed to confirm it. Also I was there to pick up some "things" he had left there. Somehow they managed to capture me. They threw me in prison Jack. For five years!"

"But you hadn't done anything."

"That's the way it works when you're a pirate."

"But-

"Let me finish my story, and then you can ask questions."

"So I sat in a prison for five years until Jack broke me out. Terrible place, that prison. Rats, every kind of pest imaginable, and the food… It still makes me quiver thinking 'bout that."

Jack shuddered. How could they do that to an innocent man? Did they not know that he wasn't a pirate or did they not care? Were people that blind and prejudice out there that they couldn't look past the labels given to the people called pirate?

In that time your father had been born. He was barely a month old when I was broken out of prison. As you already know his name was Jonathan. After that there isn't really that much to tell you about my life or piracy. It lasted barely a year. After I was rescued I left the ship to Jack. He had become the captain during the five years I had rotted in that jail cell and I used that as my opportunity to leave. Your father was raised by his mother on the mainland while your grandfather commandeered the ship. Jonathan grew up quickly just like you have my boy. He didn't truly become a pirate until your grandfather died."

"Why did he become a pirate Mr. Myrna?"

"Someone had to take over the ship didn't they? Your parents wouldn't have met if it wasn't for his becoming a pirate. It's all loyalty. A pirate does have a code of honor you know, even if sometimes it's broken. We were pirates after all. And besides that, it was all your father dreamed of. He could see himself following in his father's footsteps, the wind blowing in his face, and the adventures that he would have. He was called to the sea my boy, just like you are."

He saw that Jack wanted to protest but he spoke again, cutting him off.

"Don't' deny it Jack. I've seen the way you are at the peer. You want to leave this place badly."

"I suppose you're right."

Mr. Myrna smiled.

"Course I'm right. A man doesn't live as long as me an' gets things wrong."

He smiled but then grew serious again. He looked hard at Jacob Myrna who looked back at him just as hard.

"Mr. Myrna how did my father and you come to be here. How did he die?"

The fire crackled and the room was still. Mr. Myrna speared him with a strange look his eyes far away again.

"Haven't you had enough stories for one night Jack?"

"Come on Mr. Myrna. I'm sure there are many more stories you can tell me."

Mr. Myrna raised his voice, something he had never done in front of Jack.

"I said not tonight!"

The room was quiet again and Mr. Myrna saw the stricken look on Jack's face. Even his wife looked nervous. Seeing this Mr. Myrna softened his expression. He spoke in a soothing whisper.

"Another Time boy, another time."

He sighed and rose along with the Myrna's

"Oh all right. One more thing though. The ship. What was its name?"

Lightning struck outside, startling everyone in the room. They hadn't noticed the storm until then.

Mrs. Myrna felt a sense of dread in her gut. She hadn't felt that way in a long time not since… She sighed almost imperceptibly. There was no point in thinking about that. They were long gone and couldn't hurt them. Unless… She shook her head. That was just a pirate story, a tale of black spot nonsense. Everyone knew that was just a tale anyway. After all the ship her husband manned for a short time had been the stuff of legends and it had turned out to just be a normal ship. It was only black for some unknown reason because time had forgotten who made it, how and why the maker did it was unknown. Her silent musings were interrupted by her husband when he spoke again to reveal the named of the ship. He uttered the words he hadn't spoken in twelve years. She noticed the shadow that crossed his face as he said it.

"The Pearl. The Black Pearl."

Jack nodded his thanks to the Myrnas and quickly left the room and headed to bed. He would not think about these things until morning. Then he could think more clearly. He was tired and it was very late. Mrs. Myrna said nothing to her husband and left the room as well. That left Jacob all alone in the room with the fire crackling behind him.

He turned to the fireplace and reached for the bucket of water that was right next to the hot poker. He poured the water and the fire extinguished. Smoke rose from the fireplace and the sweet smell of burnt cedar reached his nostrils. It reminded him of a wine he had tasted once on the island of Tortuga. Sometimes on cold nights he missed those days, but he didn't regret his life or the turn it had taken. He pulled himself out of his revere and walked to the small window and looked outside and noticed the storm brewing. He felt something suddenly foreboding in the air.

Outside the wind howled louder. Someone was coming, and soon.

_I sure parts of this were a bit too predictable but that's just how it came to be. I'm still trying to work out how to do the accented dialects and I hope to improve on it. In the future I hope to make the chapters longer but I'm not good at writing long chapters. I'd like to keep this story going so it is going to be sort of fast paced. In the next chap we will find out the rest of the story!_


	5. Fire

Thanks for bearing with me. I'll try to update faster. Promise.

**Barbossa** _The moonlight shows us for what we really are._

The storm continued to rage on into the night, but the occupant's of the Myrna household had gone to bed, choosing to ignore the foreboding weather.

When Jack reached his bedroom he did not go to bed, but to a small stool by the window. He sat down and stared out into the night sky. While counting the stars that surrounded the clouds and lightning he imagined a world more comforting to him. One where children weren't orphaned by disease and the ocean's waves lulled one to sleep after a day of climbing the mooring. Jack was in a place that felt safe and warm. It was a mother's embrace and the twinkle of a father's eye when full of pride. Jack was at home among the waves.

As he realized that his head was bobbing forward he abruptly stood up and headed towards his bed. The wooden object clattered to the floor, but he made not attempt to right it. He was too numb to care at the moment. He needed sleep. The weight of the world had pressed upon Jack Sparrow, and it was time for him to make his escape into night. As he put his head down on the pillow he prayed for a dreamless night. Sadly for Jack Sparrow that wish would not be granted that night or any night in the near future.

X X X

The boy moaned in his sleep as a searing heat passed over his body, each wave more intense than the last. He turned his away in an attempt to protect himself, but the flames only licked further up his body. He opened his mouth in an attempt to scream, but found nothing. He-

"Myrna we know you're here. Come out!"

Jack woke with a start and this time he did scream. Loud and clear, and through the haze of his terror he heard a clang in the living room. Silence fell upon the house once more.

"Don't pretend we didn't hear that Jacob." The door creaked as others entered the room and Jack listened for the squeak that would accompany the door closing. No other sound was heard other than the shuffle of booted feet.

A crash was heard as some piece of china hit the floor.

"Damn it boy! Bring that lantern over here. Can't you see it's dark?"

He heard a muffled whispering sound that could only be the boy answering the voice and moving forward with the lantern.

Jack covered his mouth with one hand to stifle his heavy breathing, and with the other he wiped the sweat from his soaked brow. After taking a moment to calm down, Jack decided that he would move closer to his doorway to get a look at the men. He inched forward slowly on his belly until he reached the doorway. He got to his knees and pressed his back on the wall. He felt the coolness of the plaster against his cheek as he turned his head sideways to look out into the room.

If he squinted hard enough he could make out three outlines. The lantern cast a faint yellow glow on the figures giving them an otherworldly appearance.

One outline was tall and incredibly skinny, and the other was obscured by the shadows of furniture. Father back in the room he could make out the shape of a figure holding a lantern. He was of average height and build for one in his early teens. He held the lantern in his right hand. In the left he held a glittering knife. The blade caught the lantern's light and cast it across the room in willowy shadows.

When the light shifted towards the other two figures a few features came into light. The tall one had a sheath attached to his belt in which a pistol rested. The hammer of the gun gave off a faint glint, and Jack could make out the hand that rested on the handle, poised and ready to fire. The man behind the furniture could now be more clearly seen. He wore a hat that held a lone feather on the left hand side. It was as red as blood and bright enough to indicate his status within the group. This man was most certainly the leader. Of what sort of organization this figure was a head of, was easy for Jack to ascertain. Pirates.

The feather turned with the man as he inclined his head to listen for any noise in the room. He spoke again, louder this time.

"We aren't here to hurt you Jacob. We're just here to have little chat." Jack saw the white of the tall man's teeth as he sneered and answered the man behind him.

"Yeah, we won't hurt ya."

A clap of thunder sounded in the distance.

"Much."

The accents were thick and harsh like sandpaper. Jack wanted to cover his ears to shut it out, but something in their tones heeded him to listen.

The pirates called out to the Myrnas again, but silence was their only answer. Either Mr. Myrna wasn't there, or he chose not to listen to the night's intruders.

Jack closed his eyes, praying that when he opened them that the intruders had been nothing but a bad dream and soon to be forgotten memory. However he might have wished his existence to change the world stayed the same as he opened his eyes. This time however, one detail had changed. Mr. Myrna had appeared in the doorway, a pistol in his hand. He set some other object down on the windowsill. It settled with a musical clank. A bottle. Jacob Myrna gestured vaguely towards it with his now empty hand.

"Is this what you've come for? The rum? Well you shall have it if it will spare the bloodshed."

The one who stood behind the furniture came forward. He- being shorter than his tall counterpart- was a bit more round but being of solid build gave little reason for one to call him fat. He appeared to be at least a decade older than Jack, perhaps more. He walked with a calculated step that spoke more of power than any slowness on his part. His steps on the unfurnished floor made dull thuds as he walked towards Jacob Myrna. He spoke with a rough voice that was like blades to a sharpening wheel. In his mind Jack imagined sparks flying from that blade as it was honed to a hair-splitting sharpness.

"It's been long time, hasn't Myrna? You've forgotten the rules of the game. It's a pity, you used to be strong."

"I was. Until I went to jail. When you were nothing but a deck swabbing brat. Jack the elder and Jonathan Sparrow changed all that. Taking up command of the ship and all."

"Yes. It's a shame that both he and his only son had died in such…unfortunate circumstances." Mr. Myrna's words finally caught up with the strange man. "Did you say Jack the elder?"

"Yes Barbossa. I know you're not deaf."

"Well, where's the lad? Or are you just stalling?"

Mr. Myrna had pressed him against the wall. Jack watched as he slowly lowered the pistol back into its holster. The lantern caught the bottle and it gave off a faint glint. Jack watched as Mr. Myrna wrapped his hand around the bottle's neck.

"The boy's asleep. I intend to leave him that way."

"Alright. I'll find him myself." He turned on his heels and walked towards Jack's room. As quietly as he could, Jack moved into the shadow of his room and held his breath. Through the light of the window he saw the leering eyes peer in the gloom as if they were willing a shape to appear in the shadows. Jack couldn't look away for fear that that flicker of movement would betray his location. He held his eyes open even as they started to water and as they were about to close…

"Barbossa!"

Jacob Myrna flew at the man in Jack's doorway even as the other two men shouted their warning. Barbossa turned in time to catch Myrna's arm and with it the bottle of rum. A quick kick to the legs sent Mr. Myrna to the floor in the doorway.

"Tried to hit me with this did ya?" Sword now unsheathed the imposing man plunged the blade into Myrna's chest and laughed gleefully as he did so. He followed that offering with jabs to arms and legs, all while humming and nearly skipping around the body. Mr. Myrna stayed silent, and his attacker's mood soured.

"What's this no screaming? The lantern Mr. Turner."

The sound of a cork being removed bounced off the walls in the room. Barbossa brought it to his lips and took a drink, exhaling with satisfaction as he lowered the bottle back down.

"Here's to you Jacob. Rest in peace."

The bottle was turned upside-down on Mr. Myrna's face and this time he did scream.

"Jack!"

Taking this as an order to run, Jack leaped forward and at once felt liquid pouring over him, lazily falling down his chest. He kept going and soon collided with another body.

"Hold the boy, Mr. Turner. He may be of some use to us. Now as for you Jacob..." Barbossa leaned down and removed the pistol from its holster. "I think I'll be having this, but I supposed that I should trade you for it. How about a light?"

The "boy"- now identified as "Mr. Turner" – had set the lantern down on the floor. His eyes followed his boss' hand as he pulled a piece of paper from his jacket and lit in on the flames of the lantern. He let the paper fly; and it drifted dreamily down onto the chest of Jacob Myrna. Flames bloomed across his clothing and Jack screamed as the skin of what had been a rough, but kind face bubbled and blistered. Jack started squirming, but the grip on his arms were firm, and Mr. Turner- appearing to be several years older than Jack- had the advantage of height over him.

In a last ditch effort for escape, Jack slammed his heel into his captor's foot and managed to wiggle his way free. As he sprinted for the door the third stranger-forgotten by Jack- grabbed the discarded bottle and threw it towards Jack. The bottle hit the wall next to the door and shattered just as Jack reached it. The shards of glass flew in all directions, catching Jack above the lip and below the elbow of his right arm. He gave a yelp, but continued running.

X X X

Unbeknownst to Jack, the Myrna household slowly collapsed as flames licked across carpet and woodwork. The pirates, who had come and destroyed his home, left, choosing not to follow in pursuit of the boy. If he sought help no one would believe such a tale as he would tell.

X X X

Jack Sparrow fled his foster home. He had no place to run, no haven in which to claim sanctuary. The only other people he knew were the rich upon the hill, whom he knew would pretend not to know him if he went in search of help. The other villagers, while appearing friendly, would offer no helping hand to a child when they had their own mouths to feed. Towns were scary places at night, with dark alleys and dark foreboding buildings that offered no shelter.

As he ran Jack's mind whirled over the night's events. In doing so he only succeeded in slowing himself down. "Mr. Turner" could catch him if her were in pursuit. He imagined those long legs sprinting straight towards him with flaming clothing and the smell of decay. The bile rose to his lips, but he couldn't stop there, not for fear of being caught. He swallowed with a shudder and kept his head down. He ran through the encompassing dark, without even shadows to guide him. He knew that any shape that represented safety was beyond his reach and the dark kept him moving, and through moving he stayed alive.

He ran to the only place that his mind directed him towards. The ocean. Whether to hide under a dock or throw himself off the pier he was not sure, but his blood sang and urged him to the sea, his one constant comfort. Here the shadows were not sharp and foreboding, but smooth and subtle with long polished masts reaching up into the sky and flags flapping in the wind. He scanned the area and found his hiding place. The dock of his daydreams and youth. Beneath the dock there was a small space of land where the pier connected to the mainland. He held onto the dock with one hand and used the other to feel for the land beneath. Having located it, he set his feet down and slowly lowered himself. After twisting his body around he was able to lie down and rest his feet against the boards that made up the dock.

He covered his eyes with his hands and struggled to find some kind of composure in the midst of hyperventilation and fear. It lasted but a moment, and in that moment of clarity he wondered what had happened to Mrs. Myrna. When that moment was lost, it was then that the horror truly caught up with him. While running he had a focus, a reason not to think. Now, he had a jumbled mix of pain and dread.

His hand over his mouth stifled his screams and his palm met with the glass imbedded therein. He pulled slowly and could fell the sharp edges scrape inside. A sob broke on a gasp as he did the same to the glass in his arm, praying there was no cloth from his shirt inside the wound. When he had regained control of himself he removed his hand to find blood on it. He tentatively touched his lips. No glass remained. He ran his tongue over the swollen area, capturing a mixture of blood, tears, and a fiery substance. It mingled with saliva and became a part of him, leaving warmth in his throat. He closed his eyes and cried anew. On that stormy night underneath the docks Jack Sparrow had his first taste of rum.


End file.
